Creating Poetry With Masturbation

50 sec read

Men dreamed of reaching the soul of her command center.

Women closed their eyes, their bodies buckling with yearning.

But only she herself,

her inner goddess,

her inner healer,

her inner source,

her inner guide,

knew herself well enough to take full control and reign over the nubby pink button. The exact way to touch that revved up her engine, and that quieted her mindFULLness.

Only she was the one to create presence with breath so in the moment.

Only she was the one that could invoke fantasies that reached the beginning and end of each nerve.

Only she was the one that could instil a natural high so high, a self hug so deep, and an edge so edgy, that after she peaks…

not once,

not twice,

but three times over,

her body and mind and soul could relax into the most awesome stillness.

A rest for all of it.

Only she could take herself to that space where she swam in comfort,

an all-knowing,

that everything was ok, and would be ok. And is always ok. Only she could do that.

So she did. In every poetic way possible.

With her words,

and with her fingers,

and her palms,


she caressed the control center of her body and mind, under the folds of her mariposa,

and she caressed the pen and the blank page in the same tender way,

Fiercely orgasming her truth. 

Leave a Reply